Story-Poem

A free-verse tale of youthful determination

Dedicated to the memory of pioneer Roger Peyrefitte.

Bent double, my knobby knees knocked from nerves – he thought.

I coughed and cussed.

Of course, my back was turned his way.

Hands on me, a finger, then two worked in, you know where.

I sneezed and cussed.

My soft behind sensed his joy at fumbling to fit.

I heard his zipper, felt his juiced-up thing

Press its way to plunge, to gutter me.

I coughed and cussed.

Arms, hands squeezing my ribs; his chin, lips, tongue to my nape and ears

Were a smothering dream – his own.

Flinging himself into me, drowning my tailpipe in cum,

It made me cough and sneeze.

At every jolt, I writhed and clutched and gave him my best – he thought.

He gargled obscenities of passion and love and ever so desperate glory.

I sneezed and coughed and cussed.

His zest paced slower as lust gave up.

He pulled away, blessing the day, and handed me twice my fee.

I coughed and cussed.

We parted as friends – he thought.

I smiled and cleared my throat, blew my nose,

Stashed the cash, pulled up my pants and –

You know – thus-lubed, went home to Papa

For a capsule of cherry cold-syrup and

For a proper

Fuck.

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